


Short

by chronicAngel (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/chronicAngel





	Short

Here's the thing about being red with someone who's tall: You're constantly called short. You want to make it clear that you're _not_ short. You're perfectly average, both for a male troll of your age and for a fully grown American male human, but Sollux is tall and thus you have to deal with constant jokes about your height at your expense even when _you aren't short._

He looms five inches over you. You think it's fucking ridiculous that he's that tall, but somehow he hit the genetic lottery and you just hit the genetic one dollar scratch ticket, and now you have to suffer for it. He's such a smug asshole.

You're walking back to your shared hive after spending some time hanging out with the few of your friends who aren't too busy screwing each other when he starts teasing you on this particular occasion. He mentions how you had to lean up when the two of you kissed outside of the doorway when leaving, and all you can do is grumble because you can't _deny_ that you had to stand on the tips of your toes just to reach him. It doesn't help that he refuses to lean down. He's never actually given a reason before, but you imagine that if you were to ask him about it he probably wouldn't even bother to make an excuse, just tease you and say how cute it is when you have to lean up like that. You hate him sometimes. Not in a black way. In a regular, he's an asshole and you hate him way.

"At least I don't have to lean down so I don't hit my head on the door frame, asshole." His slouch normally compensates for his height and the challenge of doors, but he had just escaped a hug and everyone, including you, had laughed at him when he hit his horns. Your arms are crossed over your chest in the way that they do without you even noticing when the two of your are fighting, and you're wearing a scowl that is more for decoration than actual expression. You're not mad at him. Yet. He can be a real asshole about your height, especially considering the fact that you're not even short, but it takes a bit to actually make you mad in reference to that. You've grown a lot. You're not the hot-headed teenager you used to be. You're a hot-headed adult now.

He squints down at you, but you think he's trying to glare. The expression doesn't suit his face well. He has a look like a baby that has just licked a lemon and is now staring at its parents in betrayal as it wonders why they would ever give it something so sour. You think sour is a proper way to describe his angry faces. He never really looks mad or annoyed, just looks like he was expecting something to be sweet but it came out bitter or spicy or something else not-sweet and now his face is all puckered up in disgust and unpleasant surprise until someone can give him something more closely resembling what he wants. He smacks his lips disapprovingly and stares you down, squinting viciously as though that isn't about to make you break down laughing. It's more cute than intimidating. Sometimes you wonder if that isn't what he's going for. "I've done that twice, ever, and you know that, and you're just rubbing it in my face because you're bitter that you're so short. Well you need to get over your Napoleon complex, Vantathhhhhh." He lisps your name on purpose, and it makes you twitch. He got over his lisp sweeps ago, and that was your fault. It feels like he's rubbing that in your face.

You glare at him, a proper glare, and stop walking, moving your arms from their crossed position to throw them back dramatically. "I'm not short! I'm average! You _know_ I'm average and you just like picking on me because _you're_ a fucking freak!" You weren't really mad before. You are now. You know that you're being childish and you don't really care. He started it.

He stops too now, standing in front of you and really glaring at you now. Good. His stupid squints were dumb and you want to be mad at him right now. Looking stupid in the middle of an argument will only either make you angrier, or make you laugh, and then he'll tell you that you can't be mad at him because you're laughing and you've always thought that was a stupid rule. "I've slept with you and I _know_ I'm not the freak."

Your face blooms red and you actually scoff, a surprisingly high, indignant note that hangs in the air for a second before you bite it back and let out a low grumble. "Shut the fuck up, Captor."

"Make me, Vantas." You can't resist the opportunity. He does it all of the time and it's always made you so mad that you can't resist the opportunity to reclaim it and shove it right back in his stupid, smug face. Your hands curl into the black fabric of his T-shirt and you pull, until he's stumbling and leaning down for once and your lips are shoved into his. He's surprised for a second, and then he's smirking against your lips and any anger you had been filled with mere seconds before melts away as you let your eyes slip closed and allow yourself to be pacified by just kissing your matesprit.

It's something you do often, actually. It's not like physical affection is a rarity like it was in your last relationship, although it's also not something that you're forced to put up with all of the time like the one before that. There's a nice balance now, and you don't think you've ever actually had a relationship that was this... well, it's not perfect, you know that better than any other idiot around here, but it's good. Sollux doesn't like physical affection very much either, he prefers sitting with his arm casually slung over your shoulders to making out obnoxiously during movies like some people you could think of. He seems to appreciate the little things about you that other people were always nitpicking and you're glad for it. You're tired of being changed. He's the one who pulls away, his eyes blown wide, and you grin victoriously at him. He's slouching, face inches from yours. "Okay... Maybe you're only a little bit short."


End file.
